He's been teaching himself to play Charlie's Gibson, but guitar is not his instrument and that process has been painfully slow. It isn't because he's not good at picking up a new instrument; it's more that he's been a little bit preoccupied with something he's just not willing to give up.
For as long as he's remembered, he's thrived on contact: skin on skin, hand on hand, mouth on mouth. Some of life's simplest pleasures are the things that motivate him: a beautiful piece of music, a luxurious bath -- preferably with someone else -- with plenty of bubbles, silk sheets, sunshine. When he looks at things that way, it's no surprise that Callisto helped kill him slowly: he had a shitty apartment in a slummy neighborhood on a planet where the temperature almost never got above freezing... and he had no human contact. Sure, there were plenty of other people there, even plenty of good men to choose from, but he was on a self-imposed ban. On some levels that was stupid, but on others it was absolutely necessary: he'd been through a really big change and wasn't ready to let anybody get close.
That's different now, though, and when Faye takes a moment to consider his offer and finally agrees, her answer fills him with no small amount of satisfaction. He's a musician and he loves to play almost more than anything else. The saxophone rests on its stand in the corner of the room nearest the window; it only takes a moment for him to get there after reluctantly dragging his hands across Faye's body.
But when he picks up the sax, it's almost like some switch has been flipped and his lover is no longer the woman sitting there, but the instrument in his hands. It's in the way he takes in the mouthpiece; it's in the way his fingers caress the keys; it's in the way his eyes can't help but close as he plays. Also, it's in the song he plays: a slow, haunting melody that winds its way gracefully but subtly around the fringes of the whole entity. After a while, though, the note trails off a little abruptly and his eyes open and as they often do, he catches Faye reading him like the pages of a book.
That's one of the most flattering things anyone's ever done to him.
"I haven't quite figured out the ending."
The sax goes back onto the stand; he gives Faye a little half-smile.
"You want to know what the options are?" He takes a step toward her.
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For as long as he's remembered, he's thrived on contact: skin on skin, hand on hand, mouth on mouth. Some of life's simplest pleasures are the things that motivate him: a beautiful piece of music, a luxurious bath -- preferably with someone else -- with plenty of bubbles, silk sheets, sunshine. When he looks at things that way, it's no surprise that Callisto helped kill him slowly: he had a shitty apartment in a slummy neighborhood on a planet where the temperature almost never got above freezing... and he had no human contact. Sure, there were plenty of other people there, even plenty of good men to choose from, but he was on a self-imposed ban. On some levels that was stupid, but on others it was absolutely necessary: he'd been through a really big change and wasn't ready to let anybody get close.
That's different now, though, and when Faye takes a moment to consider his offer and finally agrees, her answer fills him with no small amount of satisfaction. He's a musician and he loves to play almost more than anything else. The saxophone rests on its stand in the corner of the room nearest the window; it only takes a moment for him to get there after reluctantly dragging his hands across Faye's body.
But when he picks up the sax, it's almost like some switch has been flipped and his lover is no longer the woman sitting there, but the instrument in his hands. It's in the way he takes in the mouthpiece; it's in the way his fingers caress the keys; it's in the way his eyes can't help but close as he plays. Also, it's in the song he plays: a slow, haunting melody that winds its way gracefully but subtly around the fringes of the whole entity. After a while, though, the note trails off a little abruptly and his eyes open and as they often do, he catches Faye reading him like the pages of a book.
That's one of the most flattering things anyone's ever done to him.
"I haven't quite figured out the ending."
The sax goes back onto the stand; he gives Faye a little half-smile.
"You want to know what the options are?" He takes a step toward her.
(The art of seduction is such a sweet delight.)